I'm throwing a birthday party for my mom tomorrow night. Yesterday and today are all about cleaning and primping the house, Martha-style.
Because I'm a good daughter...really, I am!...I asked Mom to give me her favorite albums so I could transfer them to the iPod and create a playlist for the party. I took a look at the pile this morning. Rod Stewart. Enigma. Josh Groban. Elton John. More Rod Stewart. James Taylor. Andrea Bocelli. And then just when I was about to cry...Air Supply. BloodybeautifulMakingLoveOutOfNothingAtAll - AIR SUPPLY. I was so stupidly happy. And then I opened the case. No disc.
And I realized that my musical life is so filled with "good" music, that I've forgotten those bastards who wrote songs that filled my 14 year old heart with hope...or...those sagging white men who Write the Songs That Make the Whole World Sing. God, I loved that one too. Barry Manilow. Neil Diamond. I'm a spongy puddle thinking about it.
I might have to call my mom and say, "Um, Mom? Yeah. I was just thinking...maybe you'd like your OTHER favorite discs at the party too. I mean...I'm suggesting it for YOU...whatever YOU want...but I really think YOU want to have those songs playing when we celebrate. I'm just thinking of YOU! I don't mind congesting my iTunes with YOUR music. Because I love you so much!"
Besides, I'm trying to picture the party coming to life during Bocelli's Arias...and I highly suspect it ain't gonna happen.
T.
